Stolen Paradise
by WordRunner
Summary: AU. During a family vacation, Christian sees something he'd like to bring home as a souvenir. (No cheating, minimal angst.)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **As is always the case, I do not own anything related to _Fifty Shades of Grey_.

* * *

There aren't a lot of people in the world who can manipulate me into doing what they want when I've set my mind against whatever it is they want. I've spent years cultivating my no bullshit personality, throwing myself into my work so deeply that I rarely have the novelty of free time, let alone vacation time that so many people seem to cherish. My idea of letting go is tying up brown-haired girls to a wooden cross, beating them, then fucking them to my enjoyment. Very occasionally these days do I get the chance to partake in my other hobbies—namely sailing and gliding—and I can't remember the last time I even took a fucking sick day, let alone a day off.

I'm not entirely certain how I ended up on a jet sitting across from Elliot with Mia somewhere behind us doing god only knows what and our parents towards the front. My mother and Mia joined forces and essentially guilt-tripped me into joining my family on their annual vacation. This year we're headed to the Bahamas. Since leaving Harvard, I've always had a ready-made excuse as to why I couldn't go away with them for ten days, and most of them were legitimate. In the earlier days, it was because of my flourishing company that needed my almost constant attention, much like a child. As time went on and GEH was more stable, I didn't want to go away because I usually had a date with my latest submissive. Even when I didn't have one, I still found some excuse to avoid family vacation.

It's not that I don't enjoy the time with my family. I do. But I haven't been around them for more than a couple hours at a time since before I dropped out of Harvard and their constant presence tends to stifle me. Elliot is always trying to drag me off for some sort of guys' night that tends to involve bars, strippers, and so much liquor he can't tell which way is up by the end of the night. The couple times I have given into his annoying insistences, the night always ended the same: I end up stumbling out of some bar at two in the morning, struggling to drag Elliot with me, get him back to his apartment, and only once have we made it to the bathroom before he vomited on a pair of my indecently expensive shoes.

Quality time with my older brother isn't always miserable. He and I just have very different thoughts on what we consider to be "fun." The upside with Elliot during this getaway was his mention of the two of us getting out to hike at some point. That's one thing we've always had in common, Elliot and I: our enjoyment of nature and the great outdoors.

When it comes to quality time with Mia... Well, over the years, I've lost track of where her interests seem to lie. One month she's determined to do something with fashion, then the next thing we know, she's attending some culinary school in the south of France with the dream to open up her own restaurant. She's ambitious, I'll give her that. And she sure as shit isn't afraid of me. She remains the only member of my family from whom I have no trouble receiving any sort of physical affection. I still have my no-go zones, which Mia respects, and she's certainly one of the few people in my life who doesn't take my shit.

Mom and Dad just tend to worry about me isolating myself from the outside world. They've never hesitated to include me in family outings, even during my more formative years, and that hasn't changed. I know they just want to see me happy, for me to not end up alone for the rest of my life. I've never stopped wanting to please them, Grace especially, but I could never be the son they want me to be. Not with my secrets. Not with my past. Certainly not with my present.

I look up and out the small window to my right as the jet touches ground and brakes heavily as we taxi up the runway. Somewhere behind me, I can almost hear Mia bouncing in place, her excitement filling her tiny body. Elliot is grinning at me in that annoying way that tells me he's already planning our first guys' night out. I roll my eyes and ignore him, instead focusing on repacking my laptop and stacks of paperwork into my bag.

Finally the flight attendants have opened the doors and I jump up to leave before Elliot, but my attempts are futile as Mia darts to the front with me, a huge grin on her face as she excitedly tells me all the things she wants to do while we're here. She links her arm in mine and I resign myself to her fast-paced chatter for the foreseeable. I wince as Elliot gives me a punch in my sore shoulder, which I injured a couple days ago during an intense session with Claude Bastille. I'd been particularly frustrated that day and had intended to take out that frustration on my trainer. Unfortunately, my mind had been elsewhere—business deals that weren't going the way I expected; my lack of a current submissive; how desperate I was becoming to have a woman splayed out beneath me to fuck at my will—and that had led to being kicked off my feet and landing on my shoulder.

"What?" I growl, turning on my brother who grins affably at me.

"Oh, relax for a change, little brother," he says dismissively. "We've got ten days of sun, beaches, and women who wear scraps of clothing in public." He smirks, eyeing me speculatively. "The men don't really wear much either, if that's what you're into."

I glare. "Fuck off, Elliot," I mutter, turning back to exit the plane.

I've never seen much point in correcting my family's belief about my sexual orientation. At first it annoyed me, but over the years their misconception that I'm gay has served several fairly useful purposes: my parents have stopped trying to fix me up with eligible women; Elliot had stopped trying to give me tips on how to best please a woman sexually; and most importantly, it's kept them from prying and discovering the true nature of my sex life. The truth would only show them just how fucked up I truly am and if by some miracle they weren't utterly disgusted by the things I do in my playroom, my relationship with them would never be the same. I may prefer to keep my distance from my family at times, but they're still my family and they're the ones who are always there for me when things go wrong. I could never do anything to jeopardize that.

Outside the jet is an SUV I've taken the liberty of renting for us and Taylor, as expected, is waiting. I sent him ahead of us to adjust the arrangements my parents made for this vacation. Originally, we were staying in a five star resort; I've upgraded us to renting a beachside bungalow for our stay. I've prepaid for all the activities my family might want to do during their free time—spa days for Mom and Mia; golf for Dad, Elliot, and, grudgingly, me; scuba tours; surf lessons since I know Elliot's always wanted to learn but hasn't ever done anything about it; private tours in museums and libraries; you think of it, I've made it available to them and they can pick and choose which activities they want to partake in. I did this for them, because I'm generally such a bastard when it comes to family activities and I want to show my family that I do appreciate and love them, even if I don't show it as often as I should.

"Seriously, Christian?" I hear Elliot mutter when he spots Taylor. I purse my lips, knowing he probably didn't actually mean for me to hear him.

Of course, the moment he hears what arrangements I've made he's clapping me on the back appreciatively, Mia might actually explode from excitement, and though my parents insist it wasn't necessary to do what I had, I can see they both appreciated and understood the gesture I was trying to make for them.

The bungalow is nicer than it looked online when I booked it. The front door is nearly hidden by surrounding plant life and flowers, and we walk up a brick sidewalk to the two-story white building. Inside, I find myself pretty impressed at my choice. Tan tile covers the floors all throughout the bungalow; bright white walls separate the large windows and glass doors that lead to the deck, which overlooks the bright blue, clear water that surrounds us. The living and dining rooms are wide open to one another. Against one wall is a fully stocked bar—Elliot immediately makes a beeline for it—and across from it is a large sectional sofa that matches the flooring almost immediately. Mia looked to be in absolute heaven when she located the large kitchen, and I can imagine we'll be forcing ourselves to choke down whatever she decides to cook us. Okay, that's not fair; I can't say I've actually tasted her cooking apart from a chocolate cake she tried to bake me for my birthday when she was twelve. The entire family had choked down the concoction that, on the outside was burnt, but the inside was somehow undercooked so as to not hurt her feelings.

A quick scan of the upstairs bedrooms meets my satisfaction. Mia, Elliot, and I immediately choose one of the three smaller bedrooms, leaving the largest for our parents. Predictably Mia picks girliest one and Elliot takes the one next to her, leaving me the last bedroom. The walls are a light blue to match the duvet on the bed and a set of doors lead to an upstairs deck that overlooks the beach and sea, and its own staircase.

I immediately feel comfortable here. Lying on the bed, I reach for my laptop bag knowing my family will be occupied exploring the house and the surrounding area for an hour or so, which gives me the opportunity to catch up on the work I know I'll miss once one of my siblings decides to hide my laptop to keep me from being antisocial.

I check my emails first, sighing at the ridiculously high number of messages I've acquired in the short time since we left Seattle. Bypassing some of the lesser important emails and find one from Elena.

* * *

**From: **E. Lincoln

**Subject: **Arrangements

**To: **C. Grey

Christian,

I do hope you're enjoying your time away with your family and taking a well-earned break. When you return, please email your schedule so I can move forward on setting up interviews. After careful consideration, I've selected three candidates who meet your stringent conditions. I think you'll be pleased with my choices. But then again, when are you not?

Should you get antsy in the meantime and need to let loose some steam, I could recommend a few venues at which you can do so that are very discreet.

Stay out of trouble.

E

* * *

I sigh. It's only been a week since Elena offered to find me a new submissive and it seems she's been very busy in that time. On the one hand, I'm relieved to know that I'll soon have an outlet for my bottled up frustrations, but on the other, the meetings with potential submissives can often be tedious, especially with my requirements. There have only been a handful of times in the last six years that none of the candidates Elena chose were what I had been looking for and those searches always set me in a foul mood until the issue was resolved.

As much as I enjoy my lifestyle—and I enjoy it quite a bit—there are occasions that it's exhausting. This is my norm, but when I go home to see my parents and siblings and I see a girl on Elliot's arm and how happy they both are to be there, no matter how short-lived the relationship might be, and I almost long for that. I wish I could be the type of man to have a normal, society-approved relationship with a woman, someone I could bring home to meet my family and have them fall in love with. That's never been an option for me. Since I was fifteen, it's been engrained in my mind that vanilla relationships would never satisfy me or my needs and therefore it's better for everyone if I stick to what I know.

Still, doesn't stop me from daydreaming sometimes.

* * *

"Dude, are you fucking kidding me?"

I look up from my computer which is set up on the breakfast bar the next morning as I respond to several emails. Elliot is staring at me indignantly wearing a pair of beach shorts, a t-shirt, and a towel around his neck. "What?" I ask.

"Why can't you just put that shit aside for a few days and enjoy yourself?" he demands. "Do you even know the meaning of _vacation_? Put the fucking computer away and come down to the beach with us."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh. "Elliot, I'm in the middle of a deal. I agreed to coming on this trip with all of you, but I can't just ignore my work the entire time I'm here."

Elliot glares at me. "You're upsetting Mom," he blurts after a moment. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "She's worried about you, Christian, afraid you're working too hard and that you're going to give yourself a fucking stroke before you're thirty. That's why she tried so hard to get you to come out here with us, because she wants you to slow the fuck down for a few days. Get out. Act your fucking age for a change. If you're not going to do it for yourself, do it for Mom."

As I previously stated, my family are the only people in my life who can guilt-trip me so successfully. And Elliot isn't even holding back on this one; he knows goddamn well how easily I cave when it comes to our mother. It's working, of course. I know my mother worries about my long hours at work and how deeply I immerse myself into my own world, so over the years I've made it a habit to give her peace of mind as often as possible. I take care of myself better than the average man. Aside from my shoulder, I can't remember the last time I was hurt or sick. It's probably only a small comfort to her, though; she's watched me lose sleep over my business dealings more times than I can count and there's nothing I hate more than watching her eyes crinkle in concern over me.

"Fine," I acquiesce quietly, closing the lid of my laptop. "I'll go to the beach with you. Just let me get changed and I'll meet you there in ten."

Surprised that I actually agreed, Elliot grinned. I walked away quickly so I didn't hear his smart ass response, determined not to make my mother worry this week.

* * *

When I arrive at the beach, I find my parents have chosen a spot under an umbrella where my mother is lounged on a beach chair reading while Mia is a little ways away on a towel under the sun working on her tan. I frown deeply at her choice of beachwear—it looks as though she bought a tiny bikini, then cut more fabric off it. Scanning the area, I find several men leering at my sister hungrily and I immediately make it my responsibility to keep them away lest they lose treasured body parts.

Out in the water, my dad and Elliot seem to be racing each other on jet skis. Actually, that looks as though it could be fun...

"There you are, dear," Grace says with a smile as I approach. "Glad you could join us."

I smirk and bend down to kiss her cheek before sitting in the beach chair beside her. "Couldn't let all of you have all the fun, could I?"

She gives me a knowing look before returning to her reading. Despite my determination to leave my work back at the bungalow, my Blackberry is currently burning a hole in the pocket of my khaki shorts. Every couple minutes, I can feel it vibrating as another message or call comes through, but I manage to ignore it for the time being, letting my eyes rove the beach.

Families are playing in the water or building sandcastles. Groups of young men and women are playing volleyball, flirtingly chasing each other into the water, and generally having the time of their lives. My family is perfectly at ease and relaxed, but I can't seem to reach that same state. I want to enjoy myself; I'm just not the type of person to sit on the sidelines and watch life pass me by.

All my thoughts come to a screeching halt as my gaze lands on a group of what seems to be college students. Two men, both of whom are shirtless and soaking up the attention they're getting from the women around them, and two women. The first is a tall, strawberry-blonde who wears her skimpy bathing suit with full confidence and an almost arrogant beauty. I could easily see her being Elliot's type. The other is slightly shorter, more ordinary looking, but she is the one who captures my attention.

She is the epitome of my type of woman. Small, slender, brown-haired... I can't tell what color eyes she has as they're hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, but what I'm seeing has me fascinated. Unlike her friend, her bathing suit is more modest and that only serves to attract me to her further. I've never understood why women with such beauty feel the need to flaunt their assets wherever they go, not that I haven't reaped the rewards in the past, but that was never the type I could see myself being with.

I follow the girl's every movement as she laughs with her friends. Even at this distance, I can hear her melodic giggle and I'm immediately and discreetly adjusting myself, fully aware that I'm sitting beside my mother. Luckily that thought serves the same purpose as a cold shower. I watch as one of the men, a tall blond, grabs the girl—my girl, I find myself thinking inexplicably—around her waist, causing her to squeal in surprise and carries her into the water, throwing her into deeper water. After several very long seconds, she surfaces, sputtering water through her laughter. It takes me a moment to realize I sat straight up in my chair when she went under, prepared to run to her rescue should she have need, and I sit back slowly, wondering why I'm experiencing this sort of reaction. I've seen people do that sort of thing a million times in my life—a man throwing a woman playfully into the water—and it's never affected me. Why now?

* * *

By the next evening, I've managed to put the beach girl out of my mind. From what I saw, one of the men has to be her boyfriend—whether it's the blond one or the dark-haired tan one who didn't seem to leave her side for more than a few minutes at a time, I don't know—and therefore off limits. I'm a lot of things, but I don't steal women. I'm far too selfish for that. Whatever relationship I have, I want to know I'm the only one with access to the woman I'm with and there's no way in hell I'll share.

Tonight, Elliot managed to talk me into hitting one of the local bars safe for tourists. Mom, Dad, and Mia are having a night-in, watching movies together since the one thing Elliot and I never disagree on is not bringing our sister to bars with us where anything can happen if we turn our backs for even a second.

My dear brother is across the room flirting with some girl. I'm at the bar, not quite in the mood to yell over the loud music just to carry on a conversation with a stranger. In situations like this, I prefer to people watch anyway. I've become pretty skilled at reading body language and intentions of people from afar—it's a necessity in the business world. If you can't read the person you're dealing with, you're not going to achieve your goal. Social settings are a little more interesting. Looking around, I wonder which men are stepping out on their wives for a quick piece of ass that will undoubtedly ruin their marriage. I see young women trying to get the attention of whoever will buy them a few drinks and grind against them on the dance floor.

As I'm wondering whether I want to order another drink to pass the time before Elliot undoubtedly tries to leave with the blonde hanging off him, I see a woman enter the bar and my heart stops. It's the girl from the beach. Yesterday, I thought her attractive; tonight, I find her fucking gorgeous. I wonder vaguely how much the alcohol in my hand contributes to that opinion. She's with her friends again and dressed conservatively compared to the other women here in tight jeans that hug the curves of her legs and a shirt that doesn't leave too much to the imagination, though at the same time remains modest. And I can't stop watching her.

She waves her friends off to find a table while she approaches the bar for drinks. Only feet away from me now, she leans against the counter and gets the bartender's attention. I'm trying not to stare too much, knowing she'd probably be uncomfortable to find a strange man eyeing her hungrily, but every time I try to curb my gaze, my eyes drift right back to her. She smells like vanilla, which has never been a scent I thought I'd find appealing, but this woman seems to be changing all of that for me.

When I glance at her for what has to be the hundredth time, I find she's looking back at me. Her face reddens in a blush at being caught out and her blue eyes widen slightly as she forces her gaze away from mine. Blue eyes. An incredible shade that I can imagine looking up at me as I fuck her. A shade in which I could easily lose myself. She darts her eyes back to mine, still blushing, and gives me a tight smile. I smile back, hoping to seem friendly rather than like a hunter on the prowl, even though I'm pretty sure that is what I am at the moment.

I've never had a problem talking to women, not since I started college at least, but I can't seem to think of anything to say to this one. My body's entire focus is on her and no part of me is cooperating. Just as I finally decide to say a simple hello, the bartender brings her drink order to her—I hadn't even noticed her placing an order...

With another very brief glance at me, she gathers the glasses and walks away from me, giving me a very nice view of her tight ass.

_Fuck._ I don't think I've ever wanted somebody so much. Somebody I've never interviewed or negotiated contracts with. But I do want her. And I'll be damned if I don't at least try before the night is over.

* * *

**A/N: **Despite the fact that I've got two stories going right now, both of which demand attention, I've been issued a challenge to write something "not angsty". And I can't resist a challenge, so this is the byproduct of that. With three stories going, this one would be less of a priority until I get one of the others nearer to an end, but I'll do my best to keep up on it if you guys want. Reviews are always very much appreciated and as always, thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

In all honesty, I have no idea why I'm here. I suppose I'm easily manipulated by _certain people_ who shall remain nameless and who use powers of persuasion and persistence to their great advantage. After graduation, I was immediately invited by my best friend Kate to join her family in the Bahamas for a week. The invitation was extended to our friend José and before I knew what I was happening, before I could even bring up a real argument, we were on a plane with the Kavanaghs. Of course nobody listened when I all but demanded to pay for my own ticket, hotel room, etcetera, so I had myself an all-expenses paid Happy Graduation vacation ahead of me before I have to go home and start my adult life.

We've got another four days here and I'm having the time of my life. I'd expect nothing less from my little group of friends. So far we've been snorkeling, sunbathed, shopped, sunbathed, had some very wonderful dinners, sunbathed, and Ethan even tried teaching me how to surf, the results of which still make Kate laugh every time she's reminded of my attempt. Did I mention sunbathing? It's one of Kate's favorite pastimes.

The only downside to this vacation has been José's constant attention. It doesn't seem to matter how often I hint that I'm just not interested in _that way_, he still tends to stand a little too closely, lets his hand linger a little too long after holding mine for however briefly I intended it to be, and the looks he's been giving me... Well, I'm sure there are a lot of girls hanging around the beach that would kill to get those expressions from him. José is sweet, he's my friend and has been for years, but I'm not attracted to him. Kate has been trying to convince me a summer fling is just what I need after college graduation and she believes José is the best candidate, since he's less likely to take advantage of me and my innocent nature.

As we enter the bar where we've spent most of our vacation evenings, I roll my eyes. Apparently in Kate's book, _virgin _means _naïve_. Just because I'm not interested in hooking up with random guys—or not so random, in José's case—doesn't mean I'm not looking or that I'm fully aware of all possible dangers around me.

Tonight it's my turn to buy drinks—José and I have been trading off whenever we go out, since Kate and Ethan have pretty much paid our way for the rest of our entertainment—and I gesture to my friends to go find a table while I retrieve our drinks. A lot of the faces darting the bar crowd are familiar, since we've been here so very often and I'm more comfortable wandering around here than I was the first time we came. But there's one person at the bar I haven't seen here yet and I'm pretty sure I'd remember seeing him.

Tousled copper hair. Dark jeans. Thin white button-down shirt under a leather jacket. He's sitting alone, though I'm not sure how: every woman I pass is eyeing him like he's their next meal and they are starving. Lucky me, there's a gap in the bar crowd a few feet from where he's sitting and nobody between us. Trying not to draw his attention, I lean against the bar and raise my hand to get the bartender's attention. He recognizes me and nods, signaling that he'll be right over. In the meantime, I get to dart my eyes at the gorgeous man sitting beside me. For lack of a better description, he's beautiful. Really. I've never seen anyone like him and it's likely I never will again. The few glances I've been able to steal suggest he works out. A lot. And I find myself wondering what it might be like to be pressed up against him on the dance floor.

My order placed, I squirm a little, wondering if it's just my imagination or if he's looking at me as well. Tying to be subtle even though I've never quite mastered that skill, I tuck my hair behind my hair and casually look over. I nearly lose my footing when I find him looking back at me unabashedly. Even in the lowlight of the bar, I can see his dark gray eyes drinking me in and I have to resist the urge to look over my shoulder to see whether he's actually looking at someone else. If he is, I don't want to know. I'm enjoying my delusion that I've managed to capture his attention and my previous thoughts about being pressed against him return, evolving into flashes of images that make my body heat uncomfortably, yet pleasurably.

He's got a small smile on his face and his eyes narrow on me slightly, and I get the feeling he might try to talk to me. But the moment he opens his mouth, the bartender places a pitcher of beer and four glasses in front of me, effectively breaking the moment. Without hesitation, I drop money behind the bar, gather the beer and glasses, and beat a hasty retreat, praying to whatever deity might be listening that I don't trip and make a fool of myself.

Somehow I make it through the crowd without incident and as predicted, José jumps up from the table to help me.

"About time," Kate calls over the music as her brother pours our drinks. "I need a drink before going out on the prowl."

Ethan and I roll our eyes at one another. Every night has been the same: we get here, we order drinks, Kate announces she's on the prowl. So far nothing has come from her extensive searches for Mister-Right-Now, but clearly she's not ready to admit defeat just yet. I know she's eager for us to get on the dance floor. I've managed to avoid prolonged activity on aforementioned dance floor, partly due to my fear of tripping over my own feet and making an idiot of myself, and partly due to my aversion to being felt up by drunken strangers. Or even drunken friends when José and Ethan decide to join us. I swear it's a contest between them who gets to dance with me.

Besides there is only one person in this bar I wouldn't mind being pressed up against for any length of time and I would never get enough nerve to speak to him, so the point is moot.

When the time comes for Kate to start dragging me off, I manage to convince her I'm tired and would prefer to just sit for a while. I have to promise to join her soon before she'll accept that I'm just not in the mood right now. José tries to insist on staying with me, to keep me company, but I wave him off, telling him I'll be fine. He's clearly reluctant as Kate catches my pleading look to her and drags him off by the hand.

I sit back in my chair and sip my beer with a sigh.

Upon our return home, Kate and I will be packing up our apartment in Portland for our move to Seattle. We're both excited to embark on our new, adult lives. Kate already has a job waiting for her at a newspaper. I, on the other hand, have nothing yet. My plan is to hit the streets and start looking for jobs at publishing houses. I would love nothing more than the opportunity than to make my living with books—reading, editing... Hell, if I had the nerve, I'd try my hand at writing. I don't know that I'd ever be brave enough to share with the world anything I've written, though.

Aside from job hunting, my plans consist of possibly flying to Georgia for a few days to see my mother. She wasn't able to make my graduation because of an injury her husband Bob sustained. Ray was able to attend, and it was wonderful seeing him, but there are times a girl just needs her mother. Moving to a new city without any real life plan is one of those times.

"Not in the mood to dance?"

The voice is close to my ear, male, and unfamiliar. Cautiously, I turn to look and feel my heart stop. It's the guy from the bar. The unbelievably gorgeous one I couldn't stop looking at. Holy. Fuck. A brief glance around tells me my friends our out of my eyesight and that I'm utterly alone with this man. And I'm pretty sure he's talking to me while I'm sitting here looking like an utter moron as I stare at him. Surely he'll get disgusted with me any second now and to find one of the women who has been eyeing him all evening.

Despite my continual staring, however, he only raises an eyebrow at me, giving me a lopsided smile that leaves me feeling like I might melt at any second. _Oh for the love of god... Just answer his question!_

"Um, no, not really," I blurt out, lacking all poise I might have interjected into my words. Not that I ever really have anything resembling poise...

His smile widens and he glances at the chair beside me, silently asking if he can sit. I nod frantically, unable to think of an appropriate response. He pulls out the chair and sits with an elegance I could only ever dream of ever possessing. As he sits, I take the opportunity to drink him in properly. Gorgeous doesn't quite describe him. Bewitching. Captivating. Stunning. Sexy. Yes. He is all of these. So what the hell is he doing sitting next to me?

"You looked bored," he said as though answering my questioning thought. "And it seems criminal to let a beautiful woman be bored."

Again, I resist the urge to look over my shoulder to see who he's really talking to, because he can't have just used the word beautiful to describe me. "And what makes you think I'm bored?" I ask, bravery making itself plain in my tone while I feel anything but.

"You're not?" he questions, cocking his head to the side. "If that's the case and I've interrupted your thoughts, I apologize. Perhaps I'm the bored one and am seeking stimulating company to get me through the torturous experience of an evening at the bar while my older brother flirts with anything that walks."

His eyes dart somewhere to his right. I don't bother looking, unable to tear my gaze from his captivating eyes. "So why not just leave?" I ask, wondering why I'm asking and why a sinking feeling fills my stomach at the thought of him doing just that.

He turns his eyes back to me and I see a glimmer of something I can't identify in them. "Because something caught my attention," he says quietly. I'm not sure how I can hear him over the loud music around us, but it feels as though we're in our own little bubble and his voice is loud and clear in my ears, suggestive even. "I saw you at the beach yesterday and couldn't take my eyes off you. At the risk of making it sound like a clichéd pickup line, I can't help but think seeing you here tonight is some sort of sign that I needed to speak to you."

Caught his attention? Saw me at the beach? Couldn't take his eyes off me? This must be a dream, because no one has ever said anything like this to me. Especially not someone like _him_... I can't think of anything to say in response to this.

He glances out at the dance floor briefly, frowning. "I have to admit," he says, leaning a little closer to me, "I'm a little surprised your boyfriend has left you alone and susceptible to the charms of strange men."

_Boyfriend?_ "Who says strange men are charming me?" I retort.

When he laughs, his eyes light up and he looks young. Not that he looked old, but before now I'd have to guess he was in his early thirties; now, though, I'd put him much closer to my own age. "Baby, I'm as strange as they come," he says, still smiling widely at me. "As for charming you... Well, you're the only one who can answer that accurately."

_Yes. Without a doubt, you are charming me. I don't know how. I don't know why. But I am charmed. _Of course this is not what I say out loud. "Why do you think I have a boyfriend?"

"Are you just going to speak to me with questions all evening?" he asks, narrowing his eyes at me. "Don't you have a boyfriend? I saw you with someone..." His gaze darkens and I'm briefly intimidated by whatever that looks means.

I hadn't realized I've only been speaking in questions, but thinking back, he's right. "No, I don't have a boyfriend," I tell him, unable to meet his eyes for some unknown reason.

"Oh." He sounds surprised and his smile changes to something almost predatory. Something tells me I should be running far away from him, but I don't. And I don't want to. Something also tells me he won't let me. "What's your name?"

I hesitate. It's one thing to talk to a stranger in a bar, another for that stranger to look at you as though he wants nothing more than to eat you alive, but it's something else entirely to tell that stranger your name and forge some sort of connection with him.

_Connection? It's just your name!_

The problem is that I know nothing about this man. For all I know, he could be some psycho killer who ties women up and buries them without a trace. Still... After graduating college, I promised myself to start a new life in Seattle. Open up a bit, experience the world. I don't know this man and therefore can be anybody I want to be. Inside, I'm dancing at the very thought. He's watching me expectantly.

"Rose," I blurt unexpectedly, inwardly frowning at myself. I could be anyone, but apparently not myself. Too late now, I suppose.

"Rose," he repeats quietly. "A lovely name. I'm Christian."

* * *

I don't know what it is about this girl, but I am beyond fascinated by her. The news that she doesn't have a boyfriend was a very welcome shock to my system and I'm beyond relieved to hear it. It means I have a clear shot at her. Still I wonder about the two men she was with at the beach, as well as this evening. The dark-haired one, while apparently not her boyfriend, clearly wants that status, but judging by the way she dismissed him before I joined her, she doesn't reciprocate the feeling.

Never before have I been the type to chat up a girl I met at a bar. I have no need to do so, nor the desire. So for me to be sitting beside this beautiful girl trying to get to know her is something new to me and I have no idea what it is I'm supposed to do. For the briefest moments, I consider consulting with Elliot, then realize I would never live that down—approaching my older brother for advice on talking to women when he believes I'm gay... I shudder at the thought. The rest of my family would be aware of the situation before I could blink a fucking eye. Besides, I like a challenge. And I do believe this girl could challenge me in any number of ways. She doesn't know me, I don't know her. Chances are, we'll never see one another again. I could be someone else for a night. Someone I could never be at home. I could pretend to be normal for the first time in my life. And if it means I get this girl, I could consider that a success. Perhaps a stepping stone in leaving my Dominant lifestyle behind.

_Wait, what? Who said anything about leaving it behind? That is your life. That is what you thrive on. Control. Domination. Master of your world. You can't just "leave it behind"! _

I inwardly wince at the voice in my head that resembles Elena much too closely for my comfort.

In an effort to avoid those thoughts, I tune back into our conversation. Her name is Rose. It suits her. And I cannot believe I actually told her my name. Or maybe what I don't believe is that I _had _to tell her my name. In my experience, most women seem to know more about me than I'm ever comfortable with, or at least are familiar enough with me to recognize me as a multi-billionaire as well as an "eligible bachelor" and immediately latch onto that. I'm not seeing those familiar signs on her face, so I really don't think she knows who I am. And I really like that...

All of a sudden, our surroundings are bothering me. The music is far too loud. People at the next table are smoking like chimneys, probably something illegal. And I really want to see her more clearly. "Do you want to get out of here?" I ask, leaning in closer. I get another whiff of vanilla. It's intoxicating.

She stiffens and her eyes widen, clearly apprehensive about leaving with a stranger. I smile, trying to set her at ease.

"It's just I'm not really a bar type of guy and this place is grating on my nerves."

She relaxes fractionally, biting her lip in thought. Immediately desire fills my body and all I can see is taking that lip in my teeth as I kiss her. Hopefully not noticing my reaction, she nods and smiles shyly. "Okay," she agrees.

My eyes widen in surprise and pleasure. "Wonderful," I say huskily, pushing back my chair to stand. "Shall we?" I hold my hand out to her, but she hesitates again, her eyes darting towards the dance floor.

"I just need to let my friends know so they don't worry," she explains.

I sigh in relief, giving her a smile that makes her blush. I love the tinge of red on her skin and I'd really like to see what it looks like on the rest of her body... _Easy, Grey_, my mind chides._ You don't even know this girl. She might not be interested._ I laugh inwardly. If her expression and blush are any indication, she's definitely interested...

Quickly, she removes her cell phone from her purse and taps out a text. Seconds later, she's standing beside me and I slide my fingers into hers. She shivers and I nearly groan at the electric charge that passes between us upon skin-to-skin contact. Leading her out of the bar, I think quickly about where we can go that will give me the opportunity to get to know her and at the same time, make sure she's comfortable. The last thing I want to do is chase her off.

I settle on leading her out to the beach. It's dark, but the moon is full. Apparently I'm not the only one who had the idea of a romantic evening on the beach: we can see several couples spread sporadically around, enough that she seems okay with being alone with me, but not enough that we don't have plenty of privacy. I chose a more secluded area and remove my jacket, placing it on the sand for her to sit on. She thanks me shyly and I've got a feeling I've got a very idiotic grin on my face. I'm surprised to realize I don't care in the slightest, especially as I take both her hands and lower her to the ground before sitting down beside her.

"So tell me about yourself," I say, not in the mood to beat around the bush tonight.

She glances at me uncertainly, then tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear. I watch the movement closely. "Well, I just graduated college," she begins, looking out at the water. "I'm here with my best friend, her family, and a friend of ours."

"Are you having a good vacation?"

Nodding, she gives me a brief dart of her eyes and a smile. "I am," she confirms. "I hadn't actually planned on coming, but Kate can be very convincing."

I don't know who Kate is, but I'm very glad for her persistent nature. "And what did you major in college?"

"English Literature."

I'm impressed, though I don't know why. She seems like the bookworm-type. A sexy librarian, perhaps. I banish that thought the second it pops up in my mind, knowing any further consideration will have her running when she spots my erection. "Now that you're done with college, what are you planning on doing?"

She hesitates briefly. "I'm hoping to work at a publishing house maybe. Something involving books. I'd like to be involved in the process of getting a book to the public."

I nod thoughtfully. "What about writing a book?" I suggest quietly. "Is that something you've ever been interested in?"

I'm slightly taken aback when she looks at me in shock. "Um, no," she says unconvincingly.

I smirk, knowing full well she's lying, but not caring enough to call her on it.

"What about you?" she asks suddenly. "What's your story?"

"My story?" I repeat, turning more towards her. "I'm not so sure I have one. I'm here with my family for our annual vacation. At home I work very long hours so I don't always get the chance to spend as much time with them as I'd like. I too am enjoying myself. And I've never been interested in writing a book either."

A smile breaks out on her face as she giggles. Holy shit, that's an incredible sound... I need to hear that again. Record it, perhaps. "Well, that's all I ever wanted to know," she teases, still smiling at me.

"We aim to please," I retort. I want to ask her more—where she's from, where she graduated college—but I find myself not caring about those details as much as I might. There's something else I want more. I just hope she doesn't slap me and run screaming. Somehow I don't think that'd help my confidence... Not that I'm really lacking in that department, but I'm trying something new here and I need to know if it works for future reference. In case I ever decide to do this again.

Her eyes dart down to my mouth, which only encourages my action as I lean forward to kiss her. Her lips are incredibly soft and they move hesitantly against mine. After a moment, she seems to relax so I deepen the kiss, letting my tongue explore hers. The next thing I know, she's lying back on the sand and I'm over her, holding her hands above her head with one of mine while the other traces down her body, feeling every one of her wonderful curves. She moans into my mouth and I instinctively grind my hips into hers, causing us both to gasp at the sensation.

She's stopped kissing me and is looking at me with wide eyes that could mean anything from _I want your right fucking now _or _What the hell are you doing?_ _Get off me._

Very reluctantly, I push away from her slightly to better gauge her reaction. "What is it?" I ask, releasing her wrists and pushing her hair away from her face.

"Nothing," she says far too quickly, then rolls her eyes at herself. "I just... I haven't really done this before."

My brow furrows. "Haven't really done what?" I ask cautiously. Is she referring to sex on a beach? Or perhaps sex with someone she only just met? Or something else entirely?

She's quiet. Too quiet. I take in the intensely nervous expression on her face. Her initial hesitation to our impromptu make-out session. Her obvious reluctance to take this any further.

_No fucking way._

"Are you..." I can't even believe I'm about to ask this. "Are you a _virgin_?" I wince at the tone with which I speak the word, as though it's something nasty and deplorable. I'm just not sure how that's even possible. This incredibly beautiful woman. A fucking virgin. Now there's a contradiction...

"Um, yes, actually," she says in a very small voice. "Sorry."

My eyes widen. Why the hell is she apologizing? "No, it's fine," I tell her, belying my words by moving to lie beside her rather than on top of her. "I'm just surprised."

She sighs in disappointment. Disappointment over what, I'm not entirely sure. I keep my eyes on her face, trying to figure out what my next move should be. I know what it would be if I were at home: I'd wash my hands of her, refusing to be part of introducing a virgin to my sort of lifestyle in any way. I can attempt to restrain some of my more severe urges, but some of them will shine through no matter what. Once again, however, I think this woman is different. I don't want to wash my hands of her. I want her in every way possible. I don't fucking care that we're on separate vacations and once that time is over we'll never see each other again.

"I'd like to take you out tomorrow," I say impulsively. "If you don't have plans that is."

The look she gives me is full of shock and a slight undercurrent of happiness that makes me smile. "I'd like that," she tells me shyly, looking up at me through her big blue eyes.

"Good," I respond, leaning forward to kiss her lips briefly. We arrange a time and I tell her I'll pick her up at her hotel, which seems fine with her, then we get back to our previous activity until I feel as though if we go one like this much longer, I'm not going to be able to resist her. I lead her back to the bar entrance and call Taylor to pick her up, despite her insistence that she can just take a cab.

I help her into the back of the SUV, giving into the urge to kiss her again once I've given Taylor directions on where to take her. With a groan of longing, I back away. "Goodnight, Rose," I whisper, forcing myself to close the door. Just before her face disappears, her brow furrows slightly as though she's confused about something, but I don't allow myself to dwell on the thought. Unless I'm very much mistaken, I've just asked a girl out on a date. Not just a girl, though; a gorgeous girl. And she's a virgin. Hopefully I'll be able to change that.

Adjusting my pants, I return to the bar, hoping for the sake of my aching balls that moment comes much sooner rather than later.


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

I sigh as I stare into the bathroom mirror while brushing my hair. This has got to be the twentieth time Kate has asked me this question since I told her what I had planned for the day. I've been reliving my evening almost constantly since I returned to my room and the moment Kate entered, she knew something had gone on and wouldn't let me rest until she knew every gritty detail. Everything from the man at the bar—Christian—to him taking me out onto the beach and our make out in the sand. Incidentally she wasn't too pleased with all the sand I trailed into our shared room or the places it ended up when I undressed for a shower.

To say she was shocked by my behavior with Christian last evening is an understatement, though I think there is part of her that is incredibly impressed. The more we talked about it as well as this date Christian has asked me on the more excited she became for me. We've spent all morning "preparing me" for my outing. I've been shaved, waxed, primped. My skin has been exfoliated to the point it's nearly raw. My hair has been straightened, makeup applied to my face, and Kate has lent me a sundress that fits me perfectly.

Despite her excitement, however, her overwhelming need to protect me keeps coming to the surface. She's nervous about me being on my own with a complete stranger. I remind her it's no different than a date back home. She counters that by saying it _is_ different because we're in a foreign country and anything could happen to me, and nobody would know for hours. I still haven't come up with an argument for that one. I'm trying not to focus on the side of me that tells me repeatedly that this really is a bad idea and I need to just stay in my room and never see him again. It's not like he has my phone number, nor does he know where to find me apart from knowing the name of the hotel at which I'm staying. And even if he does try finding me, I gave him a fake name and this room is in Kate's parents' name. I could call all this off in a second and never have to deal with it again.

Then there's the other part of me who is desperate to take a risk. I've never met a man to whom I felt so attracted. I wanted him last night and if he'd pushed things just a little further, I wouldn't have stopped him. His reaction to discovering I'm a virgin still shocks me—I thought he was going to run for the hills when I confirmed his thought, but it seemed to not faze him for more than a couple minutes. I have no idea what he will expect today and I have no idea whether I'll even still want what he started last night. Still, I want this date. I want to know more about the mysterious Christian who seemed to see into my very soul. I want to know why it is that he calls to me on a deep and fundamental level, and whether this attraction to him was merely alcohol-induced or real.

I turn to Kate. "It may not be," I allow, "but I want it to be."

Kate's expression is a mixture of wanting to be supportive and needing to protect me. To my relief, she settles on the latter. "Okay," she says. "Just keep your cell on you at all times. I will text you every hour and if you don't respond, I will have every police officer on this fucking island searching for you. Got it?"

My lips twitch at her sternness. "Yes, ma'am," I mutter. She glares and I sigh. "Kate, I'll be fine. You might not believe it, but I am a pretty decent judge of character, and I really don't feel as though I'm putting myself in danger with Christian."

She sighs. "Fine," she concedes, raising her hands in a gesture of defeat. "I'm just glad you were smart enough to give him a false name."

We take a moment to giggle. "You'll distract José?" I ask as I grab my purse in preparation to leave.

"Of course," Kate confirms. "You're not feeling well after last night and not in the mood to socialize, and no José, she doesn't need you to bring her soup and nurse her back to health."

I hug Kate gratefully. "You're the best," I tell her as I leave the room.

"Damn right I am!" she calls back. "Be careful, Ana!"

* * *

What the fuck am I doing here?

I'm standing in the bar of a four-star hotel waiting for a girl I only met last night to take out on a date in the middle of the day. Oh, and she's a virgin. This is _not_ how I operate. I've talked myself out of this entire thing more times than I can count, but every time, I think about her eyes or her smile or her giggle or that way she bites her lip or the way she moves against me when I'm on top of her.

And here comes the hard-on again.

Subtlety, I adjust my pants as I lean against the bar, thinking about the reasons I am here. Last night it was because I thought I wanted to be someone else for a change with a woman who has no idea who I am, how I operate, or what I expect. That's still incredibly tempting. Living so long with Elena in my ear to tell me I could never have a "normal" relationship was bound to make me wonder at some point. Because really, what the fuck does she know about "normal"? Sure, she was married to Linc for all those years, and I know fucking well he wasn't into the BDSM scene, so she had to have experienced vanilla at some point. Obviously it didn't work for her. But why does that mean it won't work for me other than she molded me into what I am from age fifteen? I'm not that same angry, walking hard-on little boy anymore. Or at least I've managed to control and manage those emotions. I follow nobody anymore. I am my own leader and nobody tells me what to do it, when to do it, or how to do it.

Well, except Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey, but that's something entirely different.

I have no clue if this will even work. I live my life the way I do because I need control. I need the boundaries that come along with my lifestyle. But damn if I refuse to walk away without giving it a chance.

In order to get myself out of my family's plans for the day, I had to lie to them by claiming I had potential clients in the area that I needed to meet with and it might take all day. Carrick looked as though he was ready to hit me; Grace only shook her head in disappointment; Mia pouted and begged me to change my mind; and Elliot... Elliot just smirked at me. It was almost as though he knew what I was up to today and saw through every one of my lies. I know that's not possible, but I'll have to keep an eye on him—

My thoughts come to an abrupt halt as my eyes dart out into the lobby where an elevator door has opened and a young woman with long brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a white, strapless sundress that falls just above her knees is stepping out.

Holy.

Fuck.

All of a sudden, every single doubt I've had about keeping this date has been obliterated. At this point, it doesn't matter if this doesn't work out. I am about to spend my afternoon with a fucking goddess and if I'm really lucky—which I fully intend to be—I'll be removing that sundress and changing her sexual status of virgin.

Rose is looking around the lobby nervously, eyes wide, bottom lip between her teeth. I groan softly as I push myself away from the bar to approach her. Her eyes dart over to me immediately and her mouth drops open. A smile grows on my face the closer I get to her and I see her chest heaving as she practically pants over me.

_Just a face, baby. One to hide the nightmare inside..._

With a brief frown, I banish this thought. "Hello," I say quietly when we're standing practically toe to toe with one another.

"Hello," she breathes, looking at me through her eyelashes. "I wasn't sure you were going to show."

I raise an eyebrow at her to show just a fraction of my surprise, hiding my annoyance quite well. Though I can't fault her for wondering; I'd wondered the same thing. "Well, I have," I tell her, cocking my head to the side and giving her the smile that seems to reduce every woman I come across to a simpering puddle of mush. "Have you had second thoughts?"

She shakes her head slowly, eyeing me warily. "No," she whispers and I know immediately she's lying.

"Good," I say simply, backing up enough to extend my hand to hers. "Shall we, then?" The moment her small hand is in mine, my fingers wrap around it and I feel that electrical jolt again, and I'm forced to suck in a breath. I glance at her and her eyes are wide and blue and I know fucking well she felt it too.

Without another word, I lead her out of the hotel to where Taylor is waiting beside the SUV. He nods politely at Rose as he opens the backdoor. She smiles back shyly and I have to stifle a groan. What is it about that smile? I help her into the car and climb in beside her, never once letting go of her hand.

"So where are we going?" she asks nervously when Taylor pulls away from the curb.

I smile at her. "I thought we'd have lunch," I say simply. "I do hope you're hungry."

She blushes. My smile widens; that really is a lovely sight. I wonder what she's thinking about. More importantly, I wonder if her thoughts are anywhere near the ones I've been having since we parted last night. With what I have planned, by the end of lunch she will be, even if she hasn't been.

We drive in silence for nearly half an hour, exchanging the occasional shy glance. I'm still holding her hand, running my thumb over the back of hers every so often. When Taylor pulls up to the private beach, I'm barely able to contain my excitement or my grin as Rose shoots me a questioning glance.

"I'm not really dressed for the beach," she says quietly.

I smirk. "Neither am I," I say, putting as much innuendo into my tone as I can manage.

She blushes deeply. "Oh."

I smother my laugh as my door opens and I slide out, never letting go of her hand. Nodding my thanks to Taylor, I lead Rose down the beach to the spot I chose for our lunch. All my arrangements have gone without a hitch. There is a small table set on the boardwalk that borders the beach with an umbrella over it to provide shade. A bottle of wine is chilling in an ice bucket and I see our waiter pulling out our chairs. Before he can help Rose into hers, I shoot him a glare to keep him away from her, then affixing a smile in place of the glare as she sits. If she noticed the interaction, she isn't mentioning it. Probably a good thing she isn't aware of my possessive nature just yet.

Sitting across from her, I nod at the waiter to pour our glasses of wine and lift mine in a toast. She catches on and quickly raises her own to clink against mine. While we wait for our lunch, we chat casually about our vacations. She tells me about her friends—Kate and Ethan, who are siblings, and José who she met in college and is a year younger than her, majoring in photography. I listen closely to her tone as she talks about the two men, trying to decipher whether there are any feelings for them that might be more than platonic. There's an underlying fondness for them, but nothing that seems to be a barrier for me.

In turn, I tell her what I'm comfortable with about my family. My dad is a lawyer. Mom's a pediatrician. Brother is in construction. Sister is... Well, she's Mia. No other way to describe her. When she asks what I do for a living, I skate over the details, simply saying I'm in business and giving her a few small details that seem to appease her.

Lunch arrives and we're both beginning to relax, which I think might be due in part to the wine. I'm actually flirting with her and she's flirting back. We're laughing together. It's all very surreal.

After we eat, I suggest a walk on the beach. She agrees immediately, and slides off her shoes in exchange for a pair of flip-flops she brought in her bag. We walk hand-in-hand down to the water and I do something I never thought I would ever do. Standing behind her as she stares out at the water washing up the beach over her toes, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against my chest. We both tense at the action, though I'm certain for very different reasons, but she relaxes against me, placing her arms tentatively over mine. I think I can actually do this. Her hands aren't on my chest, her back is, but I've been in this position before. If she notices my pounding heart, she's not bringing attention to it.

"So you've asked me, now I want to ask you," she says quietly, still staring out into the water. Frowning, I look down at her. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

I almost laugh out loud at the question and the very thought of me with a girlfriend. Knowing she probably wouldn't appreciate it, I manage to subdue most of my amusement. "No," I tell her as evenly as I can through my grin. "I do not have a girlfriend."

She tenses. "Wife?" she asks so quietly I almost miss the question altogether.

"No," I tell her more firmly than I intended. Firmly enough that it startles her and she tries to pull away from me. I hold her more tightly. "I don't have a wife and I don't have a girlfriend."

"Okay," she says rather meekly—almost submissively. "Sorry."

Sighing in annoyance with myself, I press a kiss to her hair. "No, I'm sorry," I tell her. "Look, I don't usually do this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?"

"This." I swing out my arms and almost laugh when hers come with them. "Dating. Taking girls out for a day. I'm usually too busy working to have any sort of social life."

"Oh," she says, relaxing against me again. I bring our arms back to her waist. "If it makes you feel any better, this is new to me too."

"So we'll learn together?" I suggest.

She nods, snuggling back into me. I have to concentrate on not forming a hard-on. With her extremely close proximity, she'll undoubtedly notice and if she's truly as inexperienced as I think she is, it might have her running. "Okay," she agrees.

The rest of the afternoon is spent with us sharing little details of our lives with each other. Nothing significant. I learn about her mother and the man she considers her father, since her biological father died when she was a baby. In turn, I tell her I'm adopted and that I couldn't have a more wonderful family if I'd picked them out myself.

We stay on the beach until sunset and I reluctantly decide we need to leave since it's getting cold and she doesn't have a jacket. On the way back to her hotel, I feel a heaviness settle into my stomach at the thought of saying good night to her. She seems to have picked up on my mood and doesn't want the evening to end either. While my mission when this date began was to get her as naked as quickly as possible, I'm now reluctant. Not that I don't want to; I'm thinking my balls might actually explode without some sort of release soon. Just that we're having such a good time getting to know one another and I don't want to mess that up.

Taylor pulls up outside the hotel and slips out of the car to give us a moment of privacy. "I had fun," Rose ventures, looking at me shyly and biting her lip in what I can only describe as expectation.

I have to bite back a feral growl. "Me too," I say quietly, summoning a smile. "More than I can tell you." And because I can't wait any longer to taste her again, I unbuckle my seatbelt and scoot over towards her. Her eyes widen and her breath stalls briefly as I lean in to press my lips against hers. I sigh contentedly against her mouth, moving my lips across hers. It takes her a moment, but she begins to respond to me, opening to me, and before I'm even aware of what I'm doing, she's unbuckled and in my lap. My hands are moving all across her, her fingers are twisting in my hair. I explore her body through the thin material of her dress, pressing her hips into mine. She gasps at the sensation and I take the opportunity to push my tongue between her lips, loving the way hers feels dancing against mine.

She pulls away suddenly, fighting for breath and I think I've pushed her way too far. As I start to apologize, she whispers, "Would you like to come up to my room?"

* * *

Oh my god. What the hell am I doing?

Well, I know the quick answer: I'm standing inside the bathroom of the suite I share with Kate, staring in horror at my mirror image. Outside the bathroom, a man is sitting on my bed. A man whose lap I was just writhing around on in a car. A man who couldn't hide how much he wanted me. A man who doesn't even know my real name. And I invited him to my room while my friends are god knows where. I thought I knew what I was doing and what I wanted to do. And I think I still want that. But now I'm terrified. What if I do it wrong and embarrass myself in front of him? Despite what he says about not having a girlfriend and being new to dating, I have no doubt he's far from being a virgin and I know he knows damn well what he's doing in bed.

I jump and have to smother a yelp when I hear a soft knock on the bathroom door. "Are you all right?" Christian asks, sounding slightly panicked.

"Fine," I call back, my voice much higher than normal. "Just fine. I'll be right out."

He doesn't respond and I get myself under control by taking in a few very deep breaths and letting them out slowly. Once I think I can face him without having a full-on panic attack, I open the door and look up, only to find Christian leaning against the wall opposite the door, his arms crossed, his face concerned. "Sorry," I murmur, starting to walk past him.

He grabs my arm gently and turns me to face him. "I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do," he tells me seriously. "If this isn't what you want, that's fine. We can watch a movie or something..."

I close my eyes, sighing. "I don't want to watch a movie," I hear myself say. "And I know you won't force me." Though I'm not sure _how_ I know this; I don't even really know the guy... "I want to, though. I wouldn't have invited you up here otherwise."

A smile begins to grow on his face that at once sets me at complete ease and turns me on in a way nothing has ever done. I think if it was possible, I might actually melt at his feet. What the hell is happening to me? "In that case," he says softly, his eyes darkening as he closes the distance between us until I'm against the wall. "All you have to do is tell me to stop and I will. Understand?"

I nod jerkily and he presses his body against me. My hands move up his shoulders and around his neck and I pretend not to feel him tense when I touch him, convincing myself he's as nervous as I am, though I can't imagine how that's possible. His hands slide from my back down to my rear, and cups my buttocks, then lifts me against him. As though on instinct, my legs wrap around his waist and I feel his lips smiling against mine. Without breaking our kiss, he turns us around and moments later my back is resting against a mattress and Christian is hovering above me, settling himself between my legs.

Resting his forehead against mine, he pulls away slightly, looking into my eyes. "You're sure this is what you want?" he breathes against my lips.

I think I manage a nod. He smiles and sits up on his knees pulling me with him. "In that case, I think you're wearing far too much clothing," he whispers teasingly. "What shall we do about that?"


	4. Chapter 4

Two months have passed since my family vacation which was both the best and worst time of my life. The best because the nights I spent with Rose were beyond incredible. I'd thought I'd blown every chance I had with her when she led me up to her hotel room and disappeared for a quarter of an hour into the bathroom. When she'd finally come out, I knew I had no chance of resisting her much longer, so when she told me she wanted exactly what I wanted, I didn't hesitate to move in before one of us changed our minds.

I needn't have worried, though. Once she got past her initial nerves and relaxed, I found out how incredibly responsive she was. The way her skin shivered when I trailed my fingers across it. How her nipples hardened beneath the slightest feel of my breath. And how wet she was... Holy fuck, I still get hard just thinking about it. And knowing it was her first time meant I was doing something I'd never experienced before either: Strict Vanilla. No toys. No kink. No Dom/sub. Just a man and a woman. I wanted to make it good for her, something she would remember. What I hadn't realized was that it would be something I would enjoy and always remember as well.

And then I did something else I never thought I'd do: I slept beside a woman. All night. No nightmares. Best night of sleep I've ever had in my life. When I woke up with her naked back pressed against my naked chest, I'd nearly panicked until I remembered where I was and who I was with. The feeling I'd had when I saw her sleeping beside me was mindboggling. I never wanted it to end. Somehow I managed to extricate myself from her and ordered room service breakfast. When it arrived, I delivered it to her just as she was waking up and pretended not to see the look of devastation as she took in her appearance and realized what had happened. I never asked what the look was for, since the moment she saw me entering the room her face lit up with a smile that could thaw an iceberg.

Though she only had two days left before her vacation ended, we made the most of it. I wined and dined her. Made love to her on the beach. Bought her an ankle bracelet. Made love to her in the car. Took her to see a movie. Dragged her out halfway through to make love to her in the bathroom because I couldn't resist how cute she looked laughing. After that one, I'd been afraid I'd gone too far, that she'd be scandalized by such behavior. She did seem a little embarrassed at first, but admitted later how much she'd enjoyed it. Somehow she convinced her friend Kate, with whom she was sharing her hotel room, to leave the room to her. I don't know what they discussed, only that Kate knew about me and didn't necessarily like me for some reason, but the room was ours whenever we wanted it. Which was often in those two days. To make it up to Kate, I made sure to covertly pay for her and her friends' stay in the hotel.

The last day we saw each other was one of the worst of my life. I'd let myself live in an imaginary world where I was anonymous and let myself feel things I've never felt before. In the back of my mind, I knew it would end at some point and as tempted as I was to convince her to stay longer, I didn't. Neither of us wanted to say goodbye. But, as she said, it was what it was and there was no point pretending otherwise. If I'd had a heart at that moment, she would have broken it.

We didn't exchange email addresses or phone numbers, and we didn't promise to see each other again. I gave her a long lingering kiss and I can still taste her lip gloss on my tongue, and we said goodbye. I watched her walk away from me, pretending not to see the tears streaming from her eyes.

I was moody for the rest of my vacation. I refused flat out to join any family events, whether it be dinner or just a movie night instigated by my sister. Elliot knew something was going on with me and I gave him a black eye when he suggested I was having girl troubles. Nobody bothered me after that.

Upon my return home, I threw myself back into my work full-bore. In my very limited spare time, I took on a submissive. A pretty girl named Susannah. The amount of punishment that girl could take only encouraged me to take her to the very limits of what she could handle. For the first time in my memory, a submissive safeworded me. Right in the middle of a caning. I came to the realization that I was using Susannah as a replacement for Rose and punishing her for leaving me the way she had. Our contract ended after a week and I haven't been with anybody since. Elena has been calling almost round the clock, leaving me messages, even showing up at my office or apartment at odd times hoping to speak to me like that. I've ignored all her attempts and I know I'll have hell to pay once I finally decide to face her again, but if I have my way, that won't be for a while yet.

Today, I'm visiting my most recent acquisition. And my recent I mean it's secretly been in my possession for four months and has just been announced to the public. I still don't know what possessed me to purchase Seattle Independent Publishing, only that Ros came to me one afternoon mentioned a possible business venture we haven't explored yet. It had seemed like a good investment at the time; the company is in slight financial disarray, but with my talent of turning failing businesses around and making them succeed, it wouldn't be long until they are making me money in no time.

And in the few short months it's been in my name, they're back in the black and I'm patting myself on the back. Taylor pulls up to the curb in front of SIP and jumps out to open my door. I nod briefly at him and head inside where a tall woman with black hair is waiting for me. "Elizabeth Morgan, Mr. Grey," she says as I approach, holding out her hand. "Head of HR."

"Miss Morgan," I repeat, shaking her hand. "I was under the impression I would be met by the president and vice president of the company, not the head of human resources."

She has the good grace to flush slightly, but it only lasts a moment. "They're waiting for you in the boardroom, Mr. Grey," she tells me, her voice a little more subdued.

"Then perhaps we could be on our way to the boardroom, Miss Morgan." I realize I'm being a prick, but I don't really care at the moment. Morgan leads me to the elevators and the ride to the top floor is silent. This meeting is merely to assure things are running smoothly. Check over the accounts, weed out the weak links, and make this place profitable.

Jerry Roach and Kay Bestie are standing when I enter the boardroom and we shake hands and exchange pleasantries before taking our seats. I'm immediately informed that the company has taken on several new accounts in the last month and so far the accounts have been successful. It doesn't take much digging to realize the accounts were brought in by Jack Hyde, and even less to discover his success has only come recently. When I mention this to Roach and Bestie, they're stumbling over their words until Elizabeth Morgan, who I hadn't even realized was in the room, pipes up to helpfully inform me that Hyde recently hired a new assistant who seems to have a sixth sense for finding new talent.

"And what is the name of this new assistant?" I hear myself asking, wondering why I really care.

"Anastasia Steele," Morgan informs me more confidently. "She was hired right out of college."

I nod in acknowledgment. "Well, as long as you keep listening to the assistants rather than the actual editors, I think you're company might actually survive," I tell them coolly. Roach flushes, though whether in annoyance or embarrassment, I'm not sure. And I don't really care. "The way I see it, you're treading water. You can do better. I'm not accustomed to losing and I don't intend to start now. Is that clear?" Three heads nod quickly. "Morgan, I'd like a tour of the facilities before I leave."

Roach stands immediately. "I'll be happy to take you around, Mr. Grey," he stammers.

"I'm sure you would," I tell him, taking my copies of the finances to look over later and tucking them under my arm, then gesturing to Morgan to lead the way. Given our initial meeting, she seems eager to make a better impression. As she takes me through the building, I tune out the majority of her descriptions and introductions; over the years I've been able to know when the best time is to merely nod, smile, or input a single word response. It's not until we reach a particular office floor that I actually find anything of interest.

Jack Hyde ambushes us almost the moment we step out of the elevator. Immediately I know he's a dick. Hair pulled back in a ponytail, silver hoops in both ears, and a casual attire I would never allow for my employees at Grey House. Roach and I will be talking about the dress code here. His smile is oily and fake, and I know goddamn well he doesn't like me either. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grey," Hyde says, shaking my hand. I have the very immature desire to wipe my hands off on my pants. Later perhaps... "I've followed your career for some time."

_Have you now..._ "I've heard good things about your hiring talents," I tell him honestly. My words don't miss their mark; Hyde's eyes flash in deep annoyance and I have a deep sense of satisfaction. "If that's an indication of how you run your office, I expect nothing but good from you." There. A little sugar after rubbing salt in the wound. That usually placates them.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Grey," Hyde says, plastering a smile on his face. "That means quite a bit coming from a man with your background."

My eyes narrow at his words; for some reason I think them to be laced with malice, but Elizabeth Morgan is looking between us curiously. "I'd be interested in meeting your assistant—Miss Steele, is it?" Am I imagining the curling of his lip?

"Miss Steele is currently out to lunch," Hyde tells me smoothly. "She won't be back for an hour."

Smug bastard. "Another time, perhaps," I respond. "I'd like to meet the young woman who's keeping this company afloat." Hyde shoots Morgan a questioning glare and she shrugs, taking a step back. I manage to keep my amusement to myself. "Miss Morgan, I can find my way out. I've got a late lunch meeting to attend. Hyde, it was a pleasure meeting you."

"And you," Hyde grumbles, shaking my hand again.

I turn on my heel and return to the bank of elevators. As I leave the building, I'm scrolling through my emails, glancing up occasionally to check where I'm going. Outside, I locate Taylor and the SUV and, frowning at a text message I received from my brother, don't watch what I'm doing, and run directly into someone. My BlackBerry goes flying out of my hand and onto the sidewalk, and I watch it shatter.

_You've got to be fucking kidding me..._

I look up, intending to curse out the inconsiderate person who wasn't watching where they were going at the same time I wasn't watching where I was going... And nearly fall backwards. I'm staring into the pale, shocked face I've dreamed about every night for two months. The face I see when I close my eyes. I've seen this face laughing, crying, frowning, smiling, and in the midst of an orgasm. And I never thought I would see this face again.

"Rose," I breathe, completely forgetting I'm standing on a sidewalk in Seattle with my phone in about two dozen pieces.

She's speechless and frozen to the spot. I take a moment to scan her body. She's thinner than she was in the Bahamas, which immediately sets me on edge and makes me want to drag her down the street and buy her lunch. Her clothing is more business-appropriate: a gray pencil skirt and white blouse. Despite the fact that it's very business-appropriate, she looks perfectly fuckable and I hope she doesn't notice my sudden need to shift my feet in an attempt to adjust my pants. Hair pulled back in a loose bun, a few loose tendrils. With a pair of glasses on the end of her nose, she'd be the sexy librarian I thought she could be when we first met in the bar. I reach her shoes with low heels, but don't get to explore any further. On her left ankle rests a simple, delicate band of white gold with tiny diamonds alternating with tiny sapphires. The anklet I bought her that she was so determined to reject. It took me hours to convince her to let me wrap it around her ankle and it had looked perfect against her skin.

Still does.

"Christian."

My eyes shoot up to meet hers and I try not to flinch at the dullness of her fathomless blue eyes. A smile is growing on my face—a true smile, for the first time in two months—and I realize the chances of something like this happening being beyond any realm of possibility.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, her arms crossing over her chest as she continues to drink me in just as I was her.

"I could ask you the same," I reply, grinning, my head cocking to the side.

The fingers of one of her hands lifts and waves vaguely at the building we're standing in front of. I realize only now that the fine people of Seattle are being forced to walk around us in their haste to reach their destinations. I really don't give a shit. "I work here..." she tells me faintly, not looking away from me. "You?"

"Well, I don't work here," I say huskily, closing a bit of the distance between us without realizing I'm doing it. If she realizes, she obviously doesn't mind; rather she bites that lip of hers, even knowing what it does to me. "I can't believe you're here."

I'm fighting against every muscle in my body that's telling me to take her in my arms and kiss her until neither of us can breathe. But I have to remind myself we're standing in a very public area, which apparently is also her place of work. I do the only thing I can right now. "Have lunch with me."

Her eyes widen in shock, possibly in panic. "Um..."

"Sir."

_Taylor, your timing sucks._ "Yes?" I reluctantly drag my eyes away from Rose to find my head of security looking at me expectantly.

"You have a meeting in twenty minutes," he says reluctantly, smiling briefly at Rose. She smiles back in slight bewilderment as though she's trying to figure out why Taylor is here.

Fuck. He's right. And it's not something I can reschedule. I turn back to Rose. "Dinner," I amend. "Tonight. When are you out of work?"

She's shaking her head in apology. "I can't. I have plans tonight," she tells me.

I scowl at her. "Change them," I demand. "Jesus, Rose... I've been hoping to find you for two months and was starting to think you were a figment of my imagination. The least you can do is give me this."

She flinches as though I've struck her and I'm immediately sorry for my tone. "To be honest, I've been hoping for the same," she admits softly. "And I really do want to see you again, but..."

"But what?" I ask firmly, reaching up to push a tendril of hair away from her eyes, the tips of my fingers grazing her skin. I know she feels the tiny jolt of electricity when I touch her.

Her eyes flutter close briefly.

"Have dinner with me, Rose," I whisper, not even realizing I'm practically begging.

She nods slightly and I grin in triumph. "Okay," she whispers back. "I'm out at five."

"Perfect," I say softly. "Shall I pick you up here? Where do you live? I can drop by there if you'd prefer..."

Her eyes shoot open and the panic is there again. "No," she says far too quickly. "No, here's fine."

My eyes narrow at her, but I nod. "Okay then. I'll see you at five, then."

She nods, her eyes darting down to the sidewalk where Taylor is trying to covertly pick up the broken pieces of my phone. "I'm so sorry about that," she tells me wincing. "I wasn't watching where I was going and—"

I chuckle. "It's fine, baby," I say. "It's only a phone. I can have a new one in an hour."

Her brow furrows at my words, but she doesn't question. Instead, she glances at her watch and winces. "I've got to get inside. I'm almost late."

I want to tell her not to worry about being late, that there is no way in hell she'll get in trouble for such an infraction. Not when the owner of the company she works for is the one keeping her from her job. But I don't. I remind myself she doesn't know about me or who I am or what I do or how much I'm worth or how much of Seattle belongs to me. I'll tell her over dinner. "I won't keep you then." Not knowing how much longer I can resist her, I give in to the desire to lean in and press my lips against hers just long enough to make us both want more. "Have a good rest of the afternoon," I breathe against her lips. "I'll see you tonight."

She nods jerkily, causing me to grin, and she finally forces herself to move away from me. For a moment I worry she might lose her balance as she walks into the building on those heels of hers, but as I watch her approach the elevators, I'm confident she'll be fine.

Taylor clears his throat pointedly, reminding me we're still on schedule for my lunch meeting. As I get into the car, I feel lighter than I have in years. "Contact Barney, Jason," I say quietly, staring at SIP as we pull away from the curb. "Have him arrange another phone for me."

"Of course, sir."

"Then tell Welch I want full background checks on both Jack Hyde and Anastasia Steele. I've got a feeling Hyde isn't everything he seems to think he is."

* * *

Over the last two months, my life has changed drastically. Aside from the obvious move from Portland to Seattle after graduation from WSU and becoming gainfully employed by a wonderful little publishing company, there's the not so obvious. Like how I lost my virginity to a man I hardly knew and would likely never see again once I left the Bahamas. Those couple days with Christian have taken on an almost dream-like quality to the point that I'm starting to think I imagined it altogether. I know I didn't; I still remember every second I was with him. How incredibly sweet and gentle he was with me that first time we were together. How in tuned to my body he seemed to have been. How he took me to places I never knew existed. Not literally, though he did take me to some very lovely places before I left.

That first night, despite my overwhelming nerves and doubts, he made me feel amazing and while I don't have anything to compare it to, and therefore could be incredibly off the mark, I think it was the same for him. The way his tongue trailed my body slowly as though he was committing everything about me, my taste included, to his memory. The gentle feel of his fingers as they explored parts of my body previously unexplored. The overwhelming sensation of him entering me for the first time—how pain had turned to pleasure in less than a minute. The lazy kisses he'd given me afterwards before he turned be around and pressed against my back as we fell asleep together.

When I'd woken the morning after that first time, I thought it had all been a dream fueled by alcohol, though I hadn't really had all that much the day before. Christian had to have been a fantasy; why else would someone like him look twice at someone like me? I then realized I was completely naked beneath the sheets of my hotel bed. My clothes from the day before were scattered on the floor. And if that wasn't enough to convince me it hadn't been a dream, I was sore in places I didn't know could _be_ sore. At first, it was a pleasant soreness until I realized I was alone in the room. If it wasn't a dream, the man to whom I'd given my virginity had left me in the night. That was a devastating moment. I felt dirty and used, and I immediately regretted my moment of weakness.

The bedroom door had opened at that moment and I assumed it to be Kate. I didn't want to face her knowing she'd comfort me, but that she'd also tell me she'd known this would happen and would threaten to hunt Christian down and exact revenge on my behalf. It wasn't Kate, though; and it wasn't José or Ethan—thank god. It was Christian carrying a tray laden with breakfast foods—eggs, bacon, orange juice, toast. The shirt he'd worn the day before was only partly buttoned giving me a lovely view of his chest. And the smile he gave me when he saw I was awake... I still melt at the thought of it.

In the days that followed, I felt as though I was living a fairytale. He was wonderful. We went out on dates, got to know one another, laughed together, teased each other, and made love more times than I can recall. On my last day with him, he presented me with an anklet that must have cost him a fortune. I protested at first, but he wouldn't take no for an answer and took it upon himself to put it around my ankle where it still sits. I haven't taken it off since that day and I don't think I ever will. It's my one reminder that Christian was real and that I wasn't just making him up.

Upon my return home, it was clear I wouldn't be getting over him anytime soon. I wanted it to last forever. But of course that's not realistic. I don't even know where he lives. Hell, I don't even know his last name. That hasn't stopped me from scanning every face I pass on the streets of Seattle, hoping to see his intense, dark gray eyes looking back at me. Or his shy, boyish smile. Or to hear his husky voice that always promises something good and forbidden.

Every day I have to remind myself that while those few days with Christian were incredibly wonderful it is in the past. Kate is the only one who really knows what happened between me and Christian. She was shocked, to say the least, but proud that I finally started taking risks. She's been there for me every time I've withdrawn into myself and dragged me back to reality.

Today, I can't afford distraction. SIP is expecting a visit from the new owner who apparently has only had the company in his possession a matter of months. This would be the first time he's visited. Apparently he's incredibly intense and hot-headed, and according to Claire in reception, mouth-watering sexy. Only this morning did I learn his name. Christian Grey. I was floored. Then I decided it was incredibly unfair of the universe to do this to me. Of all the men in the world to possibly own the building in which I work, it had to be one named Christian. For the briefest seconds, I wondered if it was _my_ Christian. After all, he did tell me he was in business. I had to remind myself of the few details of his work that he shared with me—his company invests in businesses that explore green technology. A publishing house doesn't fall under that column. It's merely a cruel coincidence. End of story.

So I've gone on about my work, keeping myself busy getting things ready for the imminent arrival of the owner and trying to soothe Jack's nerves. About half an hour after the entire building started to collectively panic, Jack exited his office and told me to take my lunch break. Apparently he'd been expecting the new owner to visit his office and when he received a call that wouldn't be happening, he was put in a particularly foul mood. I accepted the offer for lunch immediately, asked him if he'd like me to bring anything back, and bolted.

Outside the SIP building, my eyes immediately found a black SUV and my heart flipped hopefully before I mentally slapped myself. There must be millions of SUVs that look like the one Christian rented for his vacation. Now I'm just looking for connections that don't exist. I know it's because the owner of SIP shares the same first name with the man I shared so many memories with and as I head down the street to a small café, I force myself to stop acting like a simpering teenager. I need to move on. I'll never forget what happened with Christian, but I can't keep reliving it. That can't be healthy.

On my way back to work, I receive a text from Kate asking if I want to go out tonight. Just the two of us. I smile. Since we arrived in Seattle, my best friend has met somebody. And since meeting that somebody, she's spent most of her free time with him. I haven't met him yet. All I know is that his name is Elliot, he works in construction, and is amazing in the sack. Sometimes I think Kate shares a bit too much.

I'm distractedly typing a text, not watching where I'm going and suddenly I'm running into something very solid. I hear a faint noise of breaking plastic and look down to find the person I've run into has dropped their phone and it's now in shattered remains on the sidewalk. Horrified and embarrassed, I look up with the intent on offering to buy a replacement when all the breath is knocked out of my chest. At first I think my imagination has run wild, conjuring an image of the man I've been thinking about nonstop for two months. Tousled just-fucked copper hair. Deep gray eyes that see through me without even the slightest bit of trouble. Impeccably dressed in what I assume is a very expensive suit. It's Christian.

Our interaction is far too brief, but in that time I realize this is not my imagination. He's really here, standing in front of me, in front of my place of work. I see desire in his eyes that I know mine reflect back. Longing. Lust. All of it. I want him to kiss me. Then I want him to drag me off somewhere and make love to me the way he did in the Bahamas.

And then I realize he's called me Rose. Somehow I've managed to block out the fact that I never told him my real name. At the time, it seemed the smart thing to do; I had to protect myself somehow. And on the day of our first date, I'd intended to tell him my real name. Then I intended to tell him before he took me to bed. I intended to tell him the truth dozens of times before I left, but I could never summon up the courage to do it.

I try to avoid accepting his dinner invitation. Despite the fact that I desperately want to be with him, even if it's just dinner. He's insistent, though, not that I'd expect anything different for him, and I feel myself crumble at the sight of his wide, hopeful eyes and his tone that just borders on begging. By the time I'm back at my desk, I have no idea what just happened, nor how I'm going to survive this dinner. Christian and I had an incredible connection on vacation, but now we're back to our normal lives, how much of a connection could we possibly have?

That's not even my biggest concern. How long can I possibly continue lying to him about my name? It seems a meaningless lie when in the beginning it was my biggest defense. He'll hate me for lying to him.

With two hours to go before Christian is here to take me to dinner, I decide maybe it's best that I just come out with the truth. If he hates me, then I deserve it. I don't want to do this; I want to pretend we're still on vacation in the Bahamas and all we had to worry about was... well, nothing.

In the elevator down to the main floor, I briefly consider making a run for it. The problem with that, of course, is he knows where I work and I know he won't just let me hide from him forever. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe he'll take the news better than I think and we can pick up where we left off.

Just as when I was returning from lunch, there is a black SUV parked at the curb in front of the building. I exit the building, smiling at Taylor as he nods a hello and opens the backdoor for me. Inside, Christian is waiting for me. It's not until the door closes behind me, automatically locking, that I get a good look at his tightened jaw and eyes flashing with what I think might be anger. He tosses a folder down on the seat between us.

"Hello, _Anastasia_."

Oh shit.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm angry.

No, actually, _angry_ doesn't quite cover it. I am fucking livid. And hurt. Definitely hurt. The woman I'd been thinking about for two months turns out to be a lie. After everything I did for her, everything we shared, she fucking lied to me. About her _name_ of all fucking things. Who fucking does that?

Taking several deep breaths, I explore the manila file folder Taylor delivered to me an hour and a half ago at my request. Well, one of the two. The first one was on Jack Hyde and I skimmed enough of it to know he's a slippery bastard that needs to be watched. It wasn't until I pursued the one pertaining to Anastasia Steele that I truly lost my cool. I didn't think much of the file at first. Miss Steele is a recent graduate from WSU. She spent most of her life growing up with her stepfather rather than her own mother who seemed to go through husbands as quickly as I go through submissives. In the back of my mind, I was already making the connections, but it wasn't until I turned the page to find the attached photograph that I really understood. There looking back at me in black and white was the girl I met on vacation. The girl who convinced me I could be a different man. The first girl with whom I had vanilla sex.

And apparently the first girl to break my non-existent heart.

I considered calling off dinner, uncertain whether I could remain calm in light of what I'd found out today. But no. Despite all of it, I want to see her. I want to know her reasons for lying to me. I want to see her laugh and smile. And I really want to fuck her.

Mostly, though, I want to see if the connection we seemed to have forged on vacation will carry over now that we've been apart for months and are back into our normal routines. I've been debating for months whether she would even fit into my normal life and routine. She's innocent and naïve and sweet, and she really has no business mixing up with a man like me. She deserves someone whole who can give her what she needs rather than forcing the life of a submissive upon her. Someone who will treasure her, not tie her up and beat her before fucking her until she screams.

Now I'm pissed off, but for a completely different reason. I'm imagining some fucker with his paws over her, inside her, bringing her pleasure. That is not an option. Not now. Not ever. We'll just have to get past this. Part of me understands why she lied: she was protecting herself, wanting to be someone else for a change. Hadn't I done the same more or less? I never told her my last name—and she never asked—and as far as I know, she has no idea who I am or what I do. Wasn't that part of the reason I was so attracted to her in the first place? Where most women are attracted to my face or my money, she wasn't most women. Not by a long shot. Well, I'm sure the face did _something_ for her, since I know her face certain did something for me. The point is she didn't want me for my money and that had been a breath of fresh air, and only made me want to shower her with expensive gifts, fancy dinners, and anything else I could come up with.

So what if I didn't know her first name? What's a name in the grand scheme of things?

I pick up her file again as Taylor pulls up outside SIP. Anastasia _Rose_ Steele. Technically, she didn't lie; Rose is her name, just not her given name and not the one she goes by. Since making my discovery, I haven't put much thought into the things I learned during my earlier visit to SIP. I feel myself smiling in pride at how well she seems to be doing at her new job. I knew she'd succeed in whatever she decided to do with her life and it seems I was right. And the chances of her being hired by a company I just happen to own are almost improbable. That's got to mean something, right? It seems for the first time in my life the stars are aligning and giving me something good, even though I probably don't deserve it.

I look up as Taylor opens his door and steps out of the car. My gaze slides over to the SIP entrance to find Rose—_Anastasia_—exiting the building. She's beautiful despite the obvious nerves on her face. I resolve myself to get to the bottom of this issue quickly so I can set her at ease and we can explore whatever might be between us together.

The passenger side back door opens and I have to fight to keep my expression neutral and my hands to myself when all I want is to grab her and pull her into my lap. She gives me a small, tight smile as she gets into the car and the moment the door closes, the back door locks engage—it's a security feature Taylor insists on with all our cars in case of kidnapping attempts. Not that I have any concern about that sort of thing. Today, it's coming in handy.

Tossing the folder on the seat between us, I see her eyes widen in shock and possibly slight fear at the expression on my face. "Hello, _Anastasia_," I say coldly, watching her reaction closely.

What little color she has in her face drains with those two words and I can already tell she's trying to find some sort of escape from me. "What did you call me?" she whispers in horror.

"Anastasia," I repeat. I do enjoy the way her name rolls off my tongue, but I have a feeling she'll always be Rose to me, no matter what happens. "That's your name, isn't it? Anastasia Rose Steele."

Her eyes are darting all around the car and out the window towards Taylor who is leaning against the hood patiently, giving us time alone. "How did you know?" she asks.

I turn to face her, nodding down at the folder. "I have my ways," I murmur.

Brow furrowing, she reaches down with shaky hands for to pick it up. And all I can think about right now is how soft those hands are when they touch me. How they fist in my hair when I kiss her. How I almost wanted her to touch my chest and my back because I thought her touch would be different, almost healing.

"Why do you have this?" she asks me cautiously, looking up from the background check.

I sigh. "Because I like to know my employees, Miss Steele."

Her eyes widen. "What do you mean, employees?"

This is not how I thought this conversation would go. I'm supposed to be the one asking questions, demanding to know why she felt the need to lie to me not letting her dominate and control the discussion. "That's not important at the moment," I say coolly. "Why did you lie to me?"

Her expression hardens as she tosses the file back into my lap. "Why do you think?" she asks sharply. "I was on vacation in a strange place and all of a sudden I've got some strange man hitting on me. I had to protect myself somehow. I thought you'd lose interest in me after that night and when that didn't happen, I didn't know how to tell you the truth without you hating me. And let's face it, Christian, it was a vacation fling; what were the chances that we'd run into each other again? I'm sorry I lied. And I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. I really am. If that changes things between us, I understand. But I have missed you and I've thought about you too."

Does this change things between us? Does it make me look at her differently? "I don't hate you," I tell her softly. "I don't think I could ever hate you. I can certainly understand the need to protect yourself; it was the smart thing to do, even though I hope you know I'd never do anything to hurt you. And as long as we're clearing the air, I haven't exactly been honest with you, either."

Her eyes shoot up to mine in surprise. "No?"

I shake my head and gesture for Taylor to come back to the car so we can head to the Mile High Club for dinner. "No," I tell her. "I hope you'll at least hear me out before deciding you want nothing to do with me."

She's still staring at me in shock as Taylor gets behind the wheel and puts the SUV into gear. I scowl at her, noting she hasn't put on her seatbelt yet and I don't think she's even thought to do it. With a sigh, I unbuckle myself and scoot across the seat, reaching across her for the belt and buckling it for her. She gasped at the close position between us and I have to swallow my own reaction. I know I need to move away and keep my distance from her, at least for now. Very reluctantly, I return to my seat, buckling my own seatbelt and glance down wondering when I wrapped my fingers around hers, then finding I really don't mind. Judging by the widening of her eyes and the increase of her breathing, I don't think she does either.

* * *

As we enter the club, I start getting an idea of what Christian hasn't been truthful about. The biggest clue is how everyone addresses him as Mr. Grey and seems to trip over their feet to get to him. By the time we reach what is apparently Christian's usual table, my head is spinning. I knew there was something more to him than what he was sharing on vacation. The fact that he has money was obvious—between the dates and the car and the personal chauffeur and every little thing in between gave that away. I knew he was successful in his career; there's a confidence about him that a lesser being would be envious of.

But this... I should know by now there is no such thing as coincidence. The Christian Grey who is the new owner of the company for which I work is the exact same one that is sliding into the booth beside me. The exact same one that made me fall a little bit in love with him that very first night I met him at that bar. The one with whom I shared something I've never shared with anyone else.

He's my boss. I really know how to pick them, don't I?

"Have you figured it out yet?" he asks quietly, turning to face me.

"You own SIP," I say faintly, unable to meet his gaze.

"Yes. That and several other companies across the world."

"So you're my boss?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him smirk. "Technically, I'm your boss's boss's boss. I have no direct authority over you." I glance up in time to see his gaze darken considerably and my insides liquefy. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy having authority over you."

I smile slightly at the thought. "So then this dinner would be considered fraternization," I say, honestly uncertain about what the answer might be. I know it's not wise to have a relationship with your boss, even your boss's boss's boss, but I don't know if Christian even wants a relationship.

"Technically," he says with a furrowed brow as he draws out the word. "But unless you're planning on filing a sexual harassment suit against me, I don't see a problem." He pauses, then turns to me, a slow seductive smile growing on his face. It's one I'm familiar with that led to some very nice private moments between the two of us. "Are you planning on filing a sexual harassment suit against me, Rose?"

Our eyebrows shoot up at the same time at the use of my middle name. He frowns deeply, averts his gaze, and clears his throat. I try desperately to get us back on track. "I wasn't planning on it," I tell him lightly. "Are you planning on giving me cause to file one?"

And just like that, flirty Christian is back. "We'll have to see how I feel after dinner." As he says the words, a waiter arrives with a tray of food and for the next half hour, Christian and I chat as we eat, and I feel as though we're back in the Bahamas and no time has passed since I last saw him. Just as I start to feel like we might actually be able to have a functioning relationship despite our differences, a woman approaches the table, one Christian clearly knows.

She's older, mid-forties maybe, with a platinum bob of hair and icy blue eyes that are sharp and piercing. Even as she smiles to show off her perfect white teeth, I'm uneasy. And glancing at Christian, so is he.

"Christian, darling, imagine running into you here," she says smoothly, holding out a hand with perfectly manicured fingernails to Christian.

"Elena," he murmurs, standing and turning his cheek so she can kiss it. I raise an eyebrow when I notice her hands don't stray past his upper arms. "And as it's my club, I can't say I understand why it's a surprise."

Elena's smile turns slightly brittle, her eyes a little more cold. "I only meant that I'd believed your schedule that demand frightfully long hours from you," she says with an edge to her tone. "And yet..." Her eyes dart briefly to me and I shift uncomfortably in my seat, "here you are."

The atmosphere in the room seems to drop to freezing temperatures as I see Christian's entire body stiffen as Elena continues to eye me curiously. "I had a sudden opening," he says coldly. "What brings you here?"

"Dinner as well," Elena says, fiddling with a purse that probably cost as much as several months' worth of my student loan payments. "I'm actually here with Isaac."

This news seems to shock Christian for some reason, but he manages to hide it well. "Is that wise?" he asks calmly.

Elena only seems to smirk at his apparent concern. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Christian?"

Again her eyes dart to me and Christian seems to only now remember I'm at the table. He turns to me looking hesitant. "Actually, we're waiting on our dessert before we need to leave. Another time, perhaps." His tone signals finality and even Elena seems to agree.

"Perhaps," Elena says, smiling again. She leans in closer to Christian and I can just barely hear her say, "If she lasts that long. From the looks of her, you'll have her broken in a week."

Radiating anger, Christian responds, but this time I can't hear any of it. Whatever it is, Elena pales and beats a hasty retreat. Christian sits down beside me again, only this time he keeps a couple feet of distance between us. "I'm sorry about that," he tells me, his tone softening as he looks at me. "I was not expecting to see her here."

"Who is she?" I ask, feeling brave. And why do I feel violated just from her looking at me?

Christian sighs, taking a gulp of tea. "An old friend," he says carefully. "A business partner. Nobody you need to be concerned about."

His dismissive tone has me on edge, but the expression in his eyes suggests he'd much prefer it if I just dropped the subject for now. Despite the curiosity that is burning to find out just how Christian met this woman and what their relationship is truly about, I pick up my fork and cut a piece of chocolate cake, holding it out for Christian. He seems confused for a moment, but slowly I see the shy, boyish smile grow on his face as he recalls sharing desserts while we were in the Bahamas. Leaning forward, he keeps his eyes locked on mine as his mouth opens enough for me to feed him the cake. Still looking at me, his lips close around the fork and he very slowly pulls away. How is it possible to be turned on by a man eating cake? There's a little bit of chocolate icing on the corner of his mouth and before I can think myself out of it, I lean forward and press a kiss to that exact spot, allowing my tongue to dart out to clean off the icing.

When I pull back, his eyes have darkened, his breath has hitched, and I know what I've started. "And here I was thinking we were just two friends having dinner," he murmurs, looking at me as though he can't quite figure me out.

"Is that what we are now?" I ask, trying to ignore the disappointment welling up in me. "Friends?" I don't know why I should be surprised. I mean, I met the man on vacation when we both thought we'd never seen one another again. And suddenly we're thrown together again and I know he's still probably a little annoyed that I didn't tell him my real name. Then again, he didn't tell me who he was either. And we both had our reasons why we lied...

"I'm not sure after everything we've shared we can be friends," he says evenly, watching me closely.

I try to disguise my hurt and blink away my tears, but despite hardly knowing each other, he seems to know me almost as well as I know myself. He scoots closer to me in the booth and reaches up to catch a tear as it falls, and to my surprise, he's smiling.

"I only meant that as friends I would have to resist the urge to throw you onto this table and have my way with you," he says huskily near my ear. "I truly have missed you and while I don't have much experience with relationships like this, if you're up for it, perhaps we can learn together."

"Oh," I squeak, my eyes wide.

He smirks slightly and before I have a chance to do anything other than suck in a breath, he presses his lips against mine. And it's better than I remembered, particularly when his tongue pushes past my lips and one of his hands moves up to cup my cheek, effectively holding me in place. My body seems to remember exactly how he affected me and is begging for more. To my annoyance, however, he pulls back, chuckling at my wordless, murmured protest.

"Just wanted to make sure it was really you," he tells me, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "I've spent months dreaming of you and I started convincing myself you were a figment of my imagination."

"And now?" I ask breathily.

He gives me a brilliant, panty-dropping smile. "It's definitely you..." After a few more minutes of convincing each other we're real, Christian pulls away with a groan. "We can't stay here much longer."

I glance down, smirking at the reason for his sudden need to put distance between us and he scowls, adjusting himself, then slides out of the booth, pulling me with him. His hand resting against my lower back as he guides me out of the restaurant. As we pass, I catch a glimpse of Elena watching us, her eyes narrowed maliciously on me, her lips curled in a sneer. Quickly, I look away from her.

While I know neither of us would complain about spending a night together, Taylor is soon pulling up the curb in front of the apartment building where Kate and I live. Christian and I both have work in the morning, and he seems determined to maintain slight distance between us for the moment. I quickly agree to have dinner with him again tomorrow, this time at his penthouse apartment, so we can have a real discussion about what we might want in a relationship, and after a kiss that leaves me whimpering when it ends, my door opens and I begin to slide out.

"Wait," Christian calls before Taylor closes the door behind him. I turn around almost too quickly and lose my balance. Luckily Taylor is there to keep me steady. Christian is smiling at me. "I don't know what to call you." My brow furrows in confusion. "I know you as Rose, but that's not your name, so..."

My eyes widen in understanding. "Oh," I say uncertainly. "I don't know. What do you want to call me?"

His smile widens. "My choice?" he asks, his eyes sparkling like a kid at Christmas. I bite my lip against a smile and nod. He reaches over and frees the lip from my teeth. "I'll have to think about it. Until tomorrow, baby."

With that, Taylor closes the door to the SUV and walks me to the building elevator. He give me a wink as the elevator door shuts and I'm left wondering if I've fallen into another one of my Christian-induced dreams. I don't think I'd mind if I had, as long as I don't wake up any time soon.


End file.
